


Adventures in Saltwater

by starsandgutters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, a bit of angst, the works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2337983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandgutters/pseuds/starsandgutters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel doesn’t even notice, so enthralled he is by what’s happening on the TV screen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adventures in Saltwater

**Author's Note:**

> For [Margie](http://therapture.co.vu/), who requested the prompt: "It's okay to cry..."

**9th may 2015**

 

Castiel doesn’t even notice, so enthralled he is by what’s happening on the TV screen.

“My friends,” Aragorn says, “you bow to  _no one._ ”

It’s a beautiful scene, and he can feel his heart - his newly human heart - swell in his chest, in empathy with such a touching moment.

It isn’t until he looks over and sees Dean shifting awkwardly on the couch, trying to eye him subtly without being very subtle at all, that he realizes anything’s happened; Cas reaches a hand up to his own face and is surprised to find wetness on his cheeks.

“Oh,” he says, a bit awkwardly; Dean’s obvious embarrassment is making  _him_  flustered, and he feels heat rise into his face. “I’m sorry. I was…caught up in the story.”

Dean ducks his head, pretending that he’s not fidgeting like an uncomfortable teenager. “No, man, it’s fine. It’s…” he takes a deep breath, seemingly to brace himself for whatever he’s going to say, and turns around on the couch to face Cas, pulling one leg up between them. Castiel finds himself mirroring the movement, not entirely sure why. They’re leaning closer, almost as if Dean was about to tell him a secret. A very awkward, embarrassing secret, by the looks of it.

“It’s okay to cry, Cas,” Dean sighs, and seems a little startled by the words himself. Castiel gets the feeling that this is for his own benefit alone, that Dean doesn’t really believe what he’s saying, but when their eyes meet there’s nothing but honesty there. “Doesn’t mean anything bad. Just… that you got heart, really.”

That is followed by an uneasy pause— uneasy on Dean’s part, at least, since Cas just looks at him, comfortable, a small smile curving his mouth. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean does a strange combination of shrugging and ducking his head again that sort of looks like he’s having a small seizure. His neck is still rather pink. “Also, Aragorn’s the best, so there’s that.” He lets his leg slide off the couch and Castiel, who is getting better at this, catches the unspoken cue for  _this conversation is over and will never be brought up again._

Castiel thinks, and does not say, that he likes the Hobbits better, because they are small, underestimated creatures, like humans, but managed to save everyone else; they remind him of Sam and Dean in that. He smiles to himself and eats some more popcorn.

* * *

 

**4th june 2015**

 

Their lips meet like something inevitable; like a tornado, a tidal wave, a hurricane that you don’t hide from, but go out in the howling wind to welcome with open arms.

It’s late, and the lights are out in the bunker, and the air is quiet but charged with electricity from their earlier fight: anger and old hurts and accusations flung with painful precision— _just leave then, it’s what you do best anyway_ , and  _I don’t recall you ever asking me to stay_ , and Castiel doesn’t know when his mouth found Dean’s but it had felt necessary, vital, lifesaving; like putting pressure on a wound to avoid bleeding out.

They’re crumpled on the floor next to the couch, their earlier screaming a distant echo in the dark room as they exchange warmth and silent comfort; a quiet thing, a respite, but they’re close and that’s all that matters, foreheads touching and breaths shared between them, and that’s probably why Castiel notices.

“Dean,” he starts.

“Don’t,” Dean replies, hoarsely.

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel insists, undeterred, reaching his hands between them to gently wipe at Dean’s cheeks. “It’s okay to cry…” he murmurs, and knows Dean won’t believe him;  so he kisses the words into his skin instead.


End file.
